Shrouded: Book 1
by Virodeil
Summary: Complete! They had been there; shrouded, but always there. Now they came forth, and he was no longer alone. All that it took was a little blue stone… *Notes: slight crossover with The Silmarillion, AU, OC's abundant, 500-word chapters, updated every day.
1. Letters

Harry James Potter curled up on the edge of his bed, brooding. The smallest room in the house was larger than his cupboard of about ten years, but it was not a big improvement overall. And now he would gladly exchange the room with his cupboard any time, just to sate his indignant, vindictive curiosity. He had been getting strange letters in thick yellowish paper and emerald-green ink since three days ago, which multiplied rapidly each day. Who was the sender? (Who was that insistant in talking to him?) And what did the letter contain? (A horrible prank?)

He must find out. He must not give up. He must not fail. There must be a way.

He might just as well start from now. From the glow-in-the-dark table clock he had managed to repair yesterday, he knew that it was approaching dawn soon. If he was fast enough, he would be able to snag a copy of the letter…

Five minutes later saw the scrawny boy back in the room, pale and panting. He had succeeded in sneaking down the stairs, and it had taken even less time than when he was creeping along the darkened hall afterwards. But then his foot landed on something soft and hairy; he squeaked, and a heavy grunt of surprise sounded from the object his foot had just squished. It was his uncle, Vernon Dursley. And of course, his engrained self preservation kicking in, Harry swiftly fled back to his bedroom even when his uncle was groping for the light switch.

There must be another way…

What would he do if not, though? Stew? No, Aunt Petunia would not allow him that luxury. And Uncle Vernon, too, would likely get the hard evidence he needed to pin Harry as the culprit of his early awakening. It would be a very bad move… But then what?

The ten-year-old rocked back and forth on the edge of his bed, ignoring the crieking and groaning of the rickety frame, and the bony springs digging into his bum and heels. Someone had written to him. He had been written to! It was the first time in his life, and accompanying the fact was a mixture between happiness and loss. (After all, if he could not get to any of the copies, and therefore reading what the person said in it, he might just as well have never received any letter addressed especially to him.)

05:45

Harry lay down and pulled the tattered blanket over him. He hated waiting, but now it was all that he could do. Aunt Petunia's shrill voice would be demanding for his presence in the kitchen soon enough. He might just as well try to catch up with the sleep that had so far eluded him.

If only it were so easy… The image of the unopened letter and its many copies afterwards taunted him, tantelising him.

Harry dreamt of being drowned in a pool of parchment letters, and the Dursleys watching and mocking.


	2. Warmth

Early in the morning, fifty letters managed to get into the house via the crate of milk and eggs the milkman delivered. Uncle Vernon was very, very miffed. In the past, when his aunt or uncle was miffed, Harry was locked in his cupboard. –

Now it was not that different. The eleven-year-old found himself boredly sitting in the lone chair in his new bedroom, leaning heavily against the battered desk beside his bed. The open window let in a gust of warm air which made the space feel more repressive, but he did not want to shut it. It somehow symbolised freedom to him, as silly as the notion sounded even in his mind; a hope that he could cultivate and hang on to.

07:30

Time crawled. Sundown seemed ages away.

Harry nodded off. He slumped forward, folded his hands on the table and placed his head on them. Sleep came on him like a thick fog, and he floated in it restlessly. Distorted scenes and images projected oddly in his mind, haunting him. –

Someone – something? – called him, cutting feebly through the fog in his dreamscape. Harry stirred. The voice – sound? – was gentle, warm, full of love and yearning. On listening closer, he realised that it was comprised of several different voices, all calling for him lovingly and earnestly.

He raised his head, and blinked. His glasses were still perched – askew – on his nose. He was faintly aware of the throbbing pain on his skin, where the taped frame had pressed against it. But what had attracted his lethargic attention was not that; no, he was used to pain.

He was just not used to items appearing suddenly on the desk. And now two things sat innocently there, before him, as if they had always been there.

He picked upthe the letter first, although he was quite tempted to touch the smooth, polished pale-blue stone beside it. The letter just looked…. Harmless. The envelope was plain white paper, addressed to just "Harry J. Potter; Privet Drive No. 4, Little Whinging, Surrey." Just normal.

Another letter addressed to just him… And this time none of the Dursleys knew about it.

On that thought, a huge grin splitted his face, and he had to prevent himself – with all his might – from just tearing into the envelope. He wanted to savour this experience.

Inside was a small note, reading:  
><em>Harry,<br>We are sorry for startling you. We mean no harm to you or your relatives. Please grasp the stone, close your eyes and concentrate on it, and you will be introduced to us.  
>Regards.<em>

Short, to the point, and frank. Harry stared at it for another full minute, before he at last steeled his will and reached for the stone. He closed his eyes, concentrated—

And an overwhelming wave of warmth and love hit him, accompanied by reassurance, understanding and – strangely – companionship. Images followed right after, as the feelings lingered; various faces smiled and gazed at him fondly, curiously: a family of sorts.


	3. Water

The next morning, Aunt Petunia opened the locks on the bedroom door – without announcing herself – and ordered Harry to cook breakfast. Fortunately, Harry had stashed the stone and the letter under a loose floorboard under his bed.

Life seemed to go on normally outside his bedroom. He cooked breakfast for the Dursleys, nicking a burnt bacon for himself when nobody else was paying attention to him, and cleaned the cooking utensils afterwards. He was fortunate that this time Aunt Petunia gave him several burnt toasts for his meal. (An added bonus, after the stolen bacon.) But sadly, he did not get to finish them.

Mails in thick yellowish envelops rained down the chimney and poured into the kitchen – precisely, onto Uncle Vernon's head. His uncle roared like an injured bull and promptly thrust him and Dudley out of the kitchen. Harry managed to grab neither his remaining toasts nor a letter from the slew.

Not five minutes later, after a fierce but silent scuffle between the cousins vying for the keyhole to peep through, Uncle Vernon himself jerked open the kitchen door and ordered them to pack. They were leaving. Just… they were leaving.

Harry fitted all his belongings into a single rucksack. He did not know when they would come back home, and if he would be counted in their number then, so it was best to sprinkle some caution in his judgement. Uncle Vernon was temperamental at best and unpredictable at worst, and now it seemed that he was zoning in on Harry. (It was never a good sign.) And for that reason also, Harry took care that he appeared downstairs only when Aunt Petunia did. (Dudley was still thumping away in his bedroom beside Harry's, probably trying to pack his computer.)

Everything was indeed in his backpack, minus the pale-blue stone he had gotten yesterday. The stone was stowed away in his jeans' pocket, clutched in his fist whenever the Dursleys were not looking. (And there was plenty of chance for that during the preparation for their abrupt departure.) The stone had given him the only source of warmth – evident warmth – in all his childhood so far. He did not want to part with it.

Dudley already whinged and cried during the first leg of their aimless journey. That made Harry frustrated and long for the relative silence of his rickety bedroom. The mere presence of the stone in his pocket could no longer soothe him now, so he put the instruction from yesterday to use. He concentrated on the stone in his grasp, while pretending to sleep.

The same warmth and acceptance flooded his being, tangible yet invisible. Driven by impulse, Harry added his own longing to the pleasant mix.

He was answered. – Water, various bodies of water. He had to put the stone in water. – The message was vague, but understandable; tantelising.

He would act on the instruction as soon as possible. Perhaps the stone would bring him somewhere good – preferably far from the Dursleys?


	4. Mission

It was strange to Harry that his new friend was a stone; stranger that he would act on its instructions without much thought. But he did not want to think much on it, lest he would break the odd, fragile bubble of expectant happiness he had made for himself.

He waited and waited for the perfect chance; and at last he was rewarded. Uncle Vernon had the 'brilliant' idea to rent a dilapidated hut situated on the edge of a jagged peninsula, after hearing that it would storm that night. They departed there via an old row-boat just when the rain started falling, but the prospect of getting some water to hand kept Harry from feeling too much of the cold air and raindrops and sea-spray. (In fact, he was quite tempted to just surreptitiously take the stone out of his pocket and let it be drenched directly by the pelting rain.)

Watching the new stack of unopened letters being burnt in the broken, empty hearth to warm the hut just made him more determined to try doing the instruction. So, a while after the Dursleys had retired to their alotted beds for the night (his aunt and uncle in the single bedroom the hut boasted, and his cousin on the rickety sofa in the main room), Harry pulled out the folded empty plastic package of the chips that had been his dinner from his back pocket and unfolded it, trying not to make too much noise meanwhile. Fingering the blue stone in his other pocket, he then crept towards the door of the bedroom and listened in for his aunt's and uncle's breathing patterns.

At length, though, deeming it futile given the rain pounding the roof of the hut and the waves battering the rocks, he returned to his assigned resting place – on the floor by the sofa – and stripped out of his clothes. (No sense in getting his clothes wet; although he would be mortified should someone happen to approach the rock in spite of the storm and see him… But he would risk almost everything for this anyway.) Afterwards, shivering but happily noting that Dudley was still fast asleep on the sofa, he tiptoed gingerly towards the front door, the blue stone clutched tightly in his left hand.

He had forgotten that the no-less-neglected hinges of the door creaked, though… But he had come so far, and refused to back down just because of this small hindrance. – The rain was heavy and made a lot of noise all around. If he went out quickly and shut the door as silently as he could, the Dursleys might not notice…

He did just that; tried, at least. In the end he was forced to slam the door shut, as his whole body shook and twitched uncontrollably from the freezing air and water. Now he just hoped that the possible wrath of his relatives and the chance of catching pneumonia were worth what he would soon find about the stone.


	5. Floored

It was jarring, to say the least, when Harry suddenly found himself drop-sitting on dry grass with the woodland smell all about him, while he had been drenched thoroughly by both the rain and the waves. Where was he? What – or who – had done this?

Standing up quickly, he took off to the nearby woods. There he tried to conceal himself by standing – quaking – behind a tree ringed by small-leaved bushes. But still, he felt all-around vulnerable even sheltered and hidden like this. – What had happened?

It did not help that he could now hear a pair of footsteps approaching his hiding place from inside the woods. Where should he hide now?

Before he could think of a solution, though, the outline of a person loomed just a yard away from him, and what dimly looked like a bundle was thrust towards him. Seeing that the thing was not retracted even after a long moment had passed, though, he at last reached out for it, his heart pounding.

It felt truly like a bundle – a bundle of clothing, if he dared guess. But what was it for? Was he meant to wear the clothes inside? Did that mean someone had watched him naked under the moonlight? (That was quite a horrifying notion to be had!) But again, he really had no choice in the matter. His body was by now dry, and his hair was just damp; and also, giving himself some protection by way of clothing was actually a good idea.

He moved aside to hopefully get more space and privacy, and began to untie the bundle. Finding a T-shirt and a pair of britches inside, he put them on, wondering at how they fit his frame; as if they were made specifically for him… (Another horrifying notion to be had, certainly.)

Harry got his second scare of the night when, as he was moving back to his former spot, the mysterious stranger seized his right hand and grasped it firmly. (It was as if that person had just remembered the social protocol, and was now adhering to it rather reluctantly.) He was not given chance to react too, because afterwards, without as much as a "Follow me," he was dragged by his wrist back into the clearing, then to the trees on the far side of it. (The person's gait was strange, though…)

After seemingly a long while, they happened on a larger clearing. There his semi-captor just stood in front of him like before, and Harry at last saw that the stranger was a female – a girl probably several years older than he was.

He felt himself blushing to the roots of his hair.

But stiff awkwardness once more set in, on her lack of reaction. In fact, it was as if she had been studying him impassively all along. What kind of human being did that?

– And where was his stone?

He had failed to realise that the blue stone was not on his person anymore.


	6. Nerves

It took only a moment for Harry to conclude – most decisively – that tonight was the strangest, most unnerving night he had ever had. And it stemmed from only a girl, too. He was just thankful that neither of his relatives were here to make it worse.

The girl, never once speaking in the whole duration of their encounter and weird acquaintance, had been dragging him again through the woods. And now they were standing on the edge of the trees, looking out towards the stretch of lake a few yards away.

Or rather, the girl appeared to be looking far over the calm surface of the moonlit water and islets, while Harry was gawking at the small row-boat drawn upon the sandy shore. Were they to row across the lake?

It seemed so, because then she dragged him forward and positioned him on the prow of the canoe, while she herself took the stern. He had to move when she pushed the canoe towards the water-line, and in the end helped her doing just that. They set out, then, after he had climbed into the vessel, interpreting her hand motion as instruction to fill the front of the canoe. (He was sorely tempted to disobey her, just to elicit spoken words from her, but in the end his self-preservation won and he refrained from that.)

He had thought they would row across the lake, though…

He picked up the voices first, nearly drowned as they were by the noises of the water and the night creatures inhabiting the islets. And then the whiff of woody smoke and grilled food entered his nose alongside the natural scents he had been inhaling – and his stomach growled with hunger, quite without his permission.

He stiffened, anticipating her ridicule. But it never came.

He did not know if he was more unnerved by it, or by the family gathering on the shore of the next islet as if waiting for him. (They looked just as impassive and thoughtful as she did!)

His silent companion ushered the canoe to a natural bay on the edge of the islet, and who appeared to be a young man helped tying it to the trunk of a tree. It was then when Harry took a closer look at him, and he could not stifle his gasp in time.

He remembered the man's face. There had been two men sharing a great resemblance one to another, in fact, when the blue stone had showed him the family…

The family. He had been brought to the people who had wanted to know him, who he had similarly wanted to meet in person. But why did it feel so unsettling now?

The girl and young man escorted him towards the campfire lit on the middle of the islet. The three other people had gone in advance, and they were now sitting on logs around the fire.

Harry had never thought that it would be like this. It felt like a trial…


	7. Relation

It was the strangest moment Harry had ever experienced, to top all the scare he had undergone just tonight. The family said nothing, and he said nothing, and they were all just looking at the crackling flame on their midst for a long while.

Then the older of the two similar-looking men stood up, soundlessly moving towards him. Harry flinched, but he could not run away.

He stifled a relieved sigh when, on reaching him, the man just showed him a piece of photograph. The flickering shadow and light reflected on the glossy surface made it hard to discern what was in the picture, but at last he could make up at least two people there. "A couple?" he hazarded a guess, whispering so as not to disturb the silence. The man shook his head. The photograph was tilted slightly, and now Harry could somehow see what was in it in sharper details.

He gasped. A man and woman was there, the latter holding a baby. If not for his own green eyes and some other features on his face, Harry believed he would look like the man in the picture when he grew up. And the eyes of the woman…

His parents?

His heart constricted. Why now? Where were they? Who were these people he had been dropped amongst?

The photograph never left his field of vision, but now the man was sitting on the vacant space at his side. Harry only realised that when he said softly near his ear, "Your father was my godson."

If his heart had clenched, now it reeled. His mind shut itself down for a moment, then attacked the notion with a stream of confused denial – nonononononononono…

Why only now? What did they want?

He was only aware of his own trembling body when the temperature got warmer. The man had moved him into his arms—

Like the baby in the woman's embrace…

Nononononono!

His face was tilted up slightly, gently, and the cool rim of a glass was pressed against his lips. – Warm apple cider. He had never tasted it. His aunt and uncle had never let him taste much of everything on the table in meals.

Was he rid of them now? But was this family – nono, he would not think about that. He must not. He must not…

"You must return there soon, but we shall always be with you."

A promise. And something round and cool and hard was pressed into his shaking hand.

Harry looked down, and there cluched by his fingers was the blue stone.

"We must not be seen by the outside world; not yet. But you can come to us."

The man's hand, large and strong, guided his own to his chest. His palm stung as if the stone was wounding him, but Harry could not shake his hand free.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice wobbling. But no answer was forthcoming.

And then, he felt the cold and the rain and the waves…


	8. Hagrid

Confusion followed the shock, then realization. But it was too slow…

Someone was approaching the rocky peninsula in the storm.

Shivering violently, Harry darted back into the hut, water dripping from his naked form. – Why? Where were his clothes?

He nearly stumbled on a pack on his way to the sofa. – Wha?

Casting his eyes around frantically, he found his forsaken clothes – his own – by the sofa, just where he had left them. The older Dursleys had not been woken up by the noises he had made, thankfully, and neither the younger.

Wiping away most of the water from himself, Harry tiptoed to the pool of his clothes and donned them one by one, still trembling. – What had happened? Had it all been real? Whose pack was it? Where were the clothes he had been given?

There was a splashing sound outside that seemed off…

Where should he hide the pack? Who was outside?

His rucksack, another hand-me-down from Dudley, was parked against the sofa; its contents were only a change of clothes and writing tools. Harry got an idea.

Stuffing the smaller, heavier pack into his larger one, he waited for whoever it was to knock on the door.

He had never expected the poor door-plank to be banged, though, on thrice of which it finally collapsed inside with a deafening crack. And on the threshold, stooping slightly to avoid the lintel, stood a huge someone that Harry did not recognise at all.

As if on cue, the door to the bedroom banged open, and out hobbled Uncle Vernon, carrying a gun in his hands. "You are trespassing, Sir!" he bellowed, and Dudley woke up with a start.

"Who are you?" Harry squeaked, hugging his rucksack as if a shield against the giant of a man. His eyes widened when the scraggly hair on the man's face twitched into a smile.

"Name's Rubeus Hagrid, Harry, but ye'can call me just Hagrid. Everyone does."

The man's voice was just as big as his body, and Harry could imagine the stone floor groaning under his weight as he advanced on Uncle Vernon.

"Put that thing away, Dursley," he growled. And when Uncle Vernon refused, he simply seized the gun and bent it double. Lacking no other defence, Harry's uncle hurried to a spot behind the sofa, the watching Aunt Petunia and Dudley following him.

Harry himself sat in the open alone, feeling vulnerable but certain that his relatives would not share the dubious safety of their 'fortress' with him. But the huge man would not harm him, would he?

He looked up uncertainly when the man – Hagrid – crouched before him, peering at him closely. His whole forearm was shaken by the man's dustbin-sized hand, then, making him bob forward and his teeth chatter.

"Nice te'meet yeh," Hagrid said warmly, smiling once more. "Am a good friend of your parents. Put you with them on 'Fessor Dumbledore's orders, sorry." And he glared at the cowering Dursleys behind Harry.

Something in Harry snapped.


	9. Discovery

Long after Hagrid and the Dursleys were asleep, Harry was still wide awake. Something in him told him that Hagrid had his heart in the right place. The other, though, pointed out that the man was responsible for dropping him amidst his relatives nearly ten years ago.

And the tales he had spouted—! How could Harry be ignorant of his own fame, if he was indeed famous? Why had Hagrid not questioned his placement among Muggles, if he was indeed a wizard?

The storm outside had not abated even one bit, yet it somehow comforted him. Hagrid's snoring vied with the wailing wind and the battering waves, but nothing was heard of the Dursleys, who had quickly retreated into the bedroom after Hagrid had attached a pig's tail to Dudley's bottom. Now completely alone, Harry looked gloomily at the birthday cake Hagrid had brought for him, set on the floor beside a platter of fat sausages. He had lost his desire to eat after Hagrid's revelations, ironically. But he was bored, and troubled, and restless… His eyes slid to his rucksack perched beside the food, then, and he hauled it to him. It was a perfect time for some investigation of the leather pack hidden inside it.

He fished the smaller pack out and opened it. Jamming a hand inside, he let out a soft gasp. The texture of the T-shirt and britches he had worn, folded neatly, met his fumbling fingers. How could they be there, while he had worne them?

He pulled them out of the pack, then examined them in the light of the flame Hagrid had lit in the hearth. – Yes, they were. He wished he had been mistaken.

He set the clothes aside, then reached into the pack again.

The tips of his fingers scraped the surface of a canvas package. Curiouser still, he hauled the package out, letting the pack sag, and opened its ties.

Food. Dried meats and fruits and hard-crusted breads, stowed in neat packets of oilcloth.

With trembling hands, Harry closed the packets and the canvas packaging, then reached into the pack for the last time.

He found a large water bottle, his blue stone, and a sealed envelope.

Trying to ignore his growing unnerve for the moment, he crept closer to the fireplace to better read the short note inside the envelope.

_Harry,  
>Simply dip the stone into the watered cap of the bottle should you wish to meet us. Take care that you are completely alone, including from watchers or eavesdroppers.<em>

So tempting… But the family must be asleep by now, right? Or were they still barbecuing away in that islet? The only thing that Harry knew now was that he did not wish to be near Hagrid for the time being. Would he be a coward if he fled from this place, though?

But pride had never saved him in the past.


	10. Ardila

The changes were both so stark and so obscure, still; but not the place.

Harry had thought that he would end up in the forest glade or the islet. He had never expected to be dumped into somebody's bedroom.

A particular somebody's bedroom, it seemed, for he could feel intense eyes examining him on his position sitting hugging his rucksack on the thickly-carpeted floor. Why must it be she? Why was he here?

He looked up, and his eyes met with those of charcoal-grey.

The girl, sitting in a revolving chair behind a cluttered writing desk, seemed to be naturally petite, with dusky skin and a complexion that reminded Harry of South-east Asian people. He would have thought her sweet-faced, if not for her relentless impassivity. He could also feel something beneath her humble, ordinary look, and it unnerved him. Worse, there was no one else in the large room to distract him or her. He had to help himself.

Thus he asked, "What's your name?"

Well, it was more a strained blurt, but he would not admit it even to himself. (That girl, again!)

It did not help, anyway. She just… smiled. What to smile about? She did not seem to mock him, so it was out of the options. But what else?

He pleaded with his eyes, begging her to speak, to alleviate the eerie silence between them. And at last, it bore fruit.

"Ardila."

Spoken softly but clearly, not like someone who had not used her voice for a long time… He could not place her thick accent, though. He had never heard of it. But it seemed rude to ask who she was.

She rose out of her chair, then, and limped towards him.

– Limped?

Just before she reached him, his eyes dropped to her feet.

They were asymmetric. That explained her strange gait from their late-night clandestine…

But before he could do anything, the pack left his arms. When he looked up, Ardila was perusing its contents with the air of someone that had arranged the pack in the first place. He was made sure of it when she said, "Keep it hidden. Have you eaten?"

Harry was floored, again. "…No."

And just so, she went to the far corner of the room and beckoned him to her.

It looked like a mini kitchen, complete with a kitchen counter and a few stools. The girl motioned Harry to sit on one of the stools, while she rummaged in the fridge. Afterwards she left him to face a plate of sandwiches and salad and a glass of milk on the table alone.

She was on the opposite side of the room, preparing items as if for a painting session.

Harry let out a sigh. Of all the places, why had he been dumped here? He could not say that Ardila was deliberately rude or had sinister intentions; but that was the point, was it not? She was so near but so distant, sweet but uncaring–

Confusing.


	11. Clarifications

It was odd, as discussion went, but Harry would not let go of such a chance anyway.

Ardilla, after bidding him to take a shower, brush his teeth and change his clothes, motioned him to climb into the large bed on the middle of the room. When he hesitated, she just pushed him onto the mattress herself and tucked him in, all in a matter-of-fact manner. Afterwards, with himself curled up in the comfortable bed and her painting away nearby, Harry began to think of what Hagrid had told him in the hut. If her family truly knew him so much, she could tell him…

"Am I really famous?"

She turned around on her stool and regarded him thoughtfully. After a while, she said, "Yes and no."

He frowned. "Yes and no to whom?"

Again she fell silent, but not as long this time. "You are, to the witches and wizards in England and its surroundings. But you are not, to us." Then, just as blandly, she returned to her work.

So she knew of the Wizarding World… But as it was, he was forced to examine himself. Would he complain that this family, who seemed to have claimed him for themselves, did not adore him so? Could he rely on them, then?

Later, later. Now he was tired.

"Someone visited me and the Dursleys. His name's Hagrid. Do you know him? He said he's my parents' friend. But he also dumped me with the Dursleys 'cause of someone's—" Harry clamped his mouth shut. He felt relieved spilling all that, but also vulnerable, and he did not want to feel so. But it appeared that the damage had been done, for Ardila forsook her stool altogether and climbed onto the bed, looming over him.

"Who ordered him?" she asked in a whisper. But to Harry's ears, her voice sounded deadly – for once.

"Professor Dumbledore," he stuttered, terrified but compelled. On that, her eyes, which usually seemed to wander everywhere, sharpened and lit up. He tried to shrink away from her, but her hands pinned his shoulders down.

Perhaps seeing his terror, she softened a little. "Do not defy those men directly, Harry." But she did not elaborate on that, and instead returned to her stool as if nothing had happened.

Still, Harry felt compelled. "Hagrid's taking me shopping for school things in the morning." What would she say to that?

"Should I go?" he continued when she did not seem to hear him.

She glanced at him. "Yes." Harry deflated.

He perked up again, though, when she added, "We shall be with you. We promised so."

He was not about to question how five people could accompany him unseen through London. They had their own ways. It would be better for all concerned if he did not know what they would hatch up.

He wanted to ask more, but then she began to hum a wordless song. His eyelids closed, as he floated into a dreamless sleep. So comfortable…


	12. Shopping

Waking up in the hut, having slept in a cosy environment, was unpleasant. But Harry would not begrudge Ardila for that. She had been more than kind, in his measure.

The now bulging pack parked beside him was another insentive. The same items were still there, but now he also found a small framed painting, a pouch of money, and another letter of instructions. (This time it was about how to use the money inside. He quickly planned how to repay Ardila, next time they met.)

He paid the newspaper-owl that came afterwards with the money, thinking to practise the new knowledge early. Then, after waking Hagrid up and having a quick breakfast, they departed the hut using the old row-boat.

Hagrid's long strides made Harry winded, and his stares and loud comments on ordinary things along the way made him embarrassed, but their travel to London was otherwise enjoyable. Harry even got to read Hagrid's Wizarding newspaper during the underground train ride, and Hagrid happily answered his questions about its strange look and contents.

But the most amazing thing of all was their destination: Diagon Alley, whose entrance was a dingy pub named the Leaky Cauldron. The gates were disguised as a stretch of brick wall! Sadly Harry could not open it himself now.

And the view that lay beyond… Harry could not decide where to look first! Everything was so new and exciting. He would stop in every shop if Hagrid would permit it.

But anyway, they were stopped by the keeper of the baggage shop just a few yards from the gates. He said that Harry's arrival had been awaited, and someone had purchased his trunk and school-bag for him.

To Harry's astonishment, they got similar calls from many other shops. Harry must choose his wand, several titles were added to his list of school books, and Madam Malkin had to measure him for his clothes, but otherwise everything had been purchased in advance. Curiously though, the person ordering all those things was never the same for every shop.

They had much time left, regardless. Harry wanted to look around in the Quidditch shop, but Hagrid insisted on their going to Gringotts for Harry's spending money and "Hogwarts business." However, in the end Hagrid won and they went to the bank.

Harry did not care much of the piles of fortune in his vault. (The pouchful of money in his pack was enough.) He was quite interested in the tiny package Hagrid fetched from the special vault for "Hogwarts business," though. He did not get any answer from the man, unfortunately, however much he wheedled.

Harry chose to go to the bookstore afterwards, as his interest in Quidditch had waned slightly. He just had never expected Hagrid to wait for him outside with a cage of slumbering white owl. "Birthday present fer yeh, lad," the man said. Harry could not stop thanking him for a while.

All in all, it was Harry's best shopping session to date.


	13. Aftermath

When Harry returned to Privet Drive Number Four, he found that the Dursleys seemed to be intent on ignoring him. He was spared a tiny portion each meal, and Aunt Petunia thrust a list of chores into his hand every morning; but Uncle Vernon refused to even look at him, and Dudley ran away whenever they were in the same room. It was fun at first, but soon Harry grew bored and even oppressed by the Dursleys' new attitude. His only companion was his owl, whom he named Hedwig after reading one of his books, and he fancied that she could understand him when he talked.

Ardila's pack and his school-books were his other saviours. The food package sustained him more than the measly meals the Dursleys gave, and he read his new books in all the spare time that he had.

Strangely, though, the thing that really gave him comfort was the small painting Ardila had included in the pack. It depicted a patch of wild orchids, violet and pink and red, growing alongside some kind of knuckled wood-ivy, curling around the trunk of a shadowed tree. It fitted Ardila's family quite well, somehow, although Harry could not explain it to himself. He often found himself gazing at it with a mixture of longing and unnerve, when he found no will to do other things.

– Dared he go to them again? Where would he end up now? Would they welcome him for the third time? Then again, he had not found a way to repay Ardila other than returning her money. He had not found a way to make his father's godfather proud, too; and he sorely wanted so, somehow.

These changes, leading to stagnancy, was maddening. Soon he had reread all his Muggle and Wizarding school-books at least twice over, and even dabbled on matching the two worlds' theories on some matters. But it was not enough, by a long run. He felt more and more caged each day, longing to get free by any means. His memories and speculations about his visit to Diagon Alley just worsened the feeling.

He opted to spend his spare time outside, then. He visited the local library and playground, avoiding encounters with his nosy and demeaning neighbours when he could meanwhile. He diligently ran for miles around each morning and evening, just to let out his stress and some pent up energy and emotions. He also began to hunt for odd jobs far enough from his neighbourhood that people would not know of his delinquent image, gathering up some cash for saving.

But it was not enough. He both dreaded and looked forward to his entrance to Hogwarts, and he began to feel restless again two weeks before the Hogwarts Express would bring him to the school. (Regarding the train, he had also been wondering about how he would find Platform Nine-and-three-quarters, as Hagrid had failed to tell him how to reach it.)

He gave up. He had to go somewhere…


	14. Free

One early morning, packing everything that he had into his trunk and rucksack, Harry snuck down to the kitchen and left a note for the Dursleys on the table. Afterwards he whispered to the owl on his shoulder, "Fly to the Leaky Cauldron, girl. I'll see you there." And Hedwig launched out of the window he had just opened.

He was leaving. He could not bear it any longer. He would stay in the pub until it was time to go to Hogwarts. Perhaps then he would also be able to find some more information about how to reach the school…

Towing the trunk (fitted with wheels and charmed to be always light) and carrying Hedwig's empty cage, he moved through his neighbourhood to the nearest bus stop. There he paid a ticket to London and climbed aboard the first bus available. His heart thumped erratically, and he could not sit still in the bus seat. It was the first time ever he boarded a vehicle with nobody he knew…

Thankfully, without any incident and too many stares from fellow passangers, he arrived at his destination and climbed down. Then he began to search for the Leaky Cauldron.

When he entered the thankfully-less-peopled pub, Tom the keeper stared at him with surprise and concern. But he obliged anyway when Harry asked for breakfast and a room to lodge for two weeks.

Harry ate his breakfast in his room; and just when he finished, Hedwig came swooping via the open window. He gave her some drink and an owl treat, before she settled completely in her cage and slept.

It felt alien to him, this sudden freedom and independence, just like what he had experienced during the bus ride. But he was determined to live the next two weeks to the fullest. – Perhaps, then, he should go to Diagon Alley now and see what he could do?

Glancing around for the last time at his slumbering owl and unpacked baggage, Harry picked up his breakfast tray and exited the room, descending to the bar. "I'm going to Diagon Alley, Tom," he informed the keeper, then went to the back of the pub. Time to explore…

He went to the bookstore first, hoping to renew his collection. There, while perusing the rows of books, he was also engaged in a lively discussion with the manager about forgotten branches of magic. (He got some great references to that topic! Sadly, most of them were located in Knocturn Alley.)

He went to the apothecary next, buying a second set of student kit for his experiments with his Potions school-book. And afterwards, thinking that he now needed a more practical container to carry his things, he went to the baggage shop to buy the bottomless backpack he had seen in his first visit.

And last, it was time for some ice cream!

Being completely alone made him feel rather vulnerable; but it also made him giddy with joy. He could do everything that he wished!


	15. Chased

Harry returned to the Leaky Cauldron in a cheery mood, having had dinner in one of the small cafes littering Diagon Alley. The mood dimmed, though, when he stepped beyond the concealed gates to the backyard of the pub. Ahead, the bar was strangely silent, and he could feel an air of anticipation around it.

He was famous in the Wizarding World; he only realized it now. So had a group of fans been waiting to ambush him? Or the followers of Voldemort – that name that Hagrid feared so? Regardless, it was bad all around, and he did not want to come inside to check.

There were trailing vines on the wall and sturdy-looking window ledges…

Harry counted the windows and climbed up the wall to reach his room's. Praying that nobody was inside his room, he climbed through the open window and looked around warily.

Nobody. Not yet, at least, because he could hear footsteps ascending the stairs…

He stuffed his rucksack and Hedwig's cage into his bottomless backpack, murmuring an apology to the owl meanwhile. Then, shrinking the trunk like the shop-keeper had instructed him, he stuffed it into his britches' pocket. Seeing that he had left nothing else, he went out by the same way and back into Diagon Alley. There must be an end to that alley. Or, if not, he could always brave Knocturn Alley…

The alley looked and felt just like it had been. His ambushers had not thought to spread there, then. With that hope in mind, he darted in between the groups of shoppers, avoiding the shadows where someone might lurk.

– He was famous because of the scar on his forehead, right? He could make use of Dudley's old hat, then.

But Diagon Alley ended on Gringotts, and he did not dare come inside to see if there might be a way out… His left hand clenched the blue stone in his pocket, opposite where he had stowed the shrunken trunk. – Nono. It was the last option, must be so.

Eyes were on his back. He must move on.

Taking a deep breath, Harry plunged into Knocturn Alley; running, running, always running. And the watcher pursued him. It was like the warped version of Harry Hunting Dudley liked to play on him…

The alley was dark, secretive and menacing. But Harry did not stop long enough anyway. And, as if sympathising with his plight, the dubious shoppers there made way for him.

The alley branched, and branched, and branched again. Harry just followed his feet in all that.

And at length, they brought him to a dead end.

The filthy, mold-invested wall was full of nooks and crannies, though.

Slipping many times in the process, Harry climbed the wall and looked over.

An underground train station. Perfect.

A hill of garbage was directly below the wall, rotting and stinking, but Harry did not care. He jumped down, landing on the pile and falling with it. Afterwards, stinking and filthy, he ran again.


	16. Surrender

Buying a ticket for the underground train was not as easy as Harry had thought, unfortunately. Being filthy and stinking, garbed in Dudley's cast-offs, put him at a huge disadvantage. The ticketer thought he was a street urchin having stolen some money somewhere. She was insistant on calling the police too, so Harry took off in search of a way out of the tube station.

He had forgotten how fast telecommunication travelled.

A surge of desperate energy empowered his limbs when he found that a group of policemen had waited for him on the gates of the station. Now he was chased from both ends of the world… He felt trapped, angry and desperate. Why could people not just let him go on his merry way?

But no, he would not surrender to any of them. He would escape or die trying.

The latter sounded so tempting right now, as he again went into the station and streaked along the railway tunnel, half-hoping that there was no train soon to depart or arrive. He was winded, his eyes stung, and his legs felt afire. The only fortune was that his backpack was feather-light as well as bottomless. But that also reminded him that Hedwig was still in there. – Was she yet alive?

– There were lights ahead.

Oh, only the next station…

Harry darted across the platforms, determined to escape into open air, even if he would collapse afterwards. He could barely breathe, and his vision swam. Sweat stung his eyes, just as often as his glasses slipped down his nose.

People shouted all around him. He could not hear them well; he would not. To him, attention meant danger, and danger meant capture. He would not allow it, if he still drew breath.

Everything felt surreal, as if he was swimming in a sea of nothingness that somehow smelled of danger and fear. The dizziness in his head supported that feeling. He felt detached from his own body after a while, as if the fire burning his legs and lungs was inconsequential.

Many kinds of atmosphere passed as he stumbled along at length. He could vaguely recall wading along something wet that reached his waist too.

He would not give up. No, he would not…

– A dead end. Harry sprawled on the hard surface of what might be road, thrown back after hitting something that clanged loudly. Everything went pitch black all around him for a moment, before he at last fought out of it. He was dead… or soon to be. He could not move anymore, much less sitting up and continuing his run. He was completely helpless now.

He hated it. But everything was dull, including that feeling…

Someone loomed over him, then barked something – but not to him. Surprisingly, that person then removed his pack with surprising care. The same hands patted his shoulder gently, and a voice whispered in his ear, something that he dimly remembered as his name. – "Harry?"

And then darkness embraced him again.


	17. Another

Harry woke up to the sensation of lying in a rather comfortable bed. Judging by the slow breathing nearby, someone was sleeping – probably in a chair.

Where was he? What had happened? His memory was blurry… He felt heavy and achy all over, still. What had he done to deserve that?

And who was the person sleeping beside him? Nobody had been nice enough to do that to him… Was it Ardila?

He blinked his eyes open; he tried, at least. Too hard a chore… He attempted to move his fingers under the light sheet covering him, then.

It worked.

And on that, the person sleeping beside him stirred.

If Harry could stiffen in alarm, he would. But as it was, his shoulders trembled slightly. What would his captor do to him?

– "Good evening, Harry."

A wet finger traced the lines of his eyelids, then pried them open gently one by one. A face he had been somewhat familiar withgreeted his view, cautiously curious. It seemed that Harry was safe, after all. But was the man the older or the younger? The lighting was too dim to determine that.)

"No, I'm not my father, if you were wondering," the man murmured, as Harry tried to project his question by gaze alone.

Harry smiled, relieved. He was not ready to see his father's godfather too.

– "Are you thirsty?"

Harry blinked once. Yes.

The man braced him up against some pillows, then, and left. He returned bearing a small bowl and a spoon.

Harry stared at the clear liquid in the bowl bemusedly. What was that?

The man smiled. "Water, Harry," he said, as if answering his unspoken question. "I felt it prudent to give you that by spoon than by glass."

Strange, Harry thought; but by this time he would receive anything to soothe his throat in any way if it was not poison. It helped, immensely, that the man spoonfed him with surprising care and patience.

Still, he must not get himself used to this. The return to his relatives next year would shatter him if so.

Thus, trying to ignore how his mind and heart tried to cling to this near-stranger without his logic's leave, Harry chose to focus on getting as much information about the current situation as possible in his current state. All the liquidd had appeased his throat somewhat, so it was probably safe to attempt for speech now.

"Who're you? Where's Hedwig?" – A slurred croak, but better than nothing at all.

That smile again. "George," the man said simply. "Like my father." A shadow seemed to dim his eyes for a moment, but he quickly recovered. "I sent your familiar to one of Ardila's haunts. If you prefer, Ardila shall be here soon with the owl."

Harry shook his head. He did not live to be served. "Just you," he whispered. George was more than enough.

Something sparked into life in the man's eyes. Harry was glad that the man was pleased, if rather unintentional.


	18. Interrogation

It was an easy thing to fall asleep again. But the darkness that now embraced Harry felt somehow softer, less smothering. He was quite content to stay forever there…

"Wake up, Harry."

A hand touched his cheeks, then his eyelids. He was reluctant to come out of his sanctuary, though.

"One minute, Aunt 'Tunia…" – But was he really with the Dursleys now?

"Wake up, Harry." – Chuckles. And an agile finger tweaked his nose.

Harry's eyes fell open in surprise. Definitely not the Dursleys.

George smiled in satisfaction. "Do you feel better?"

With not a small amount of astonishment, Harry replied, "Yes." – Where had his bone-deep exhaustion gone to?

George motioned him to sit up and waved at the nightstand on his right. "You can eat on your own, then?" he asked, amusement in his tone. A covered dish sat there on a tray alongside a spoon and a large chunk of fresh bread. Harry's stomach growled.

He grinned gratefully at the man, then soon gobbled up the meal. As if making up for prior treatment, the chicken broth was pleasantly rich. He scrapped the last drops with the last piece of the bread at length, feeling regretful.

But then George sat beside him on the bed, tilting his face up with a finger. Harry's rueful elation promptly turned into apprehention. The man had… shifted. And Harry found he feared this stern, serious side inexplicably.

"What were you doing the day before yesterday? You hit the gates blindly. You were just an inch from exhausting yourself to death."

The tone was still mild, but there was a fire in George's eyes that Harry, even without his glasses, noticed. He shrank back and looked away. Where was he? The day before yesterday–?

Running… Tired…

He must not tell George! The bobbies would certainly catch him. And what about the Wizarding World? – Nonononono… Please no…

– "Ardila likes you. Do not make her grieve for you." – Sterner, icier, but strangely non-hostile still.

If Harry could recoil, he would. As it was, his mind blanked, and his eyes sought George's on their own volition. Incredulity was foremost in his heart, followed by concern and dread. He had never thought of what Ardila – or anyone – might think about his brush with death. It was… odd, for certain. He could not grasp the notion, let alone understand it. And now George was forcefully driving the point home… Why did he treat Ardila as if a fragile glasswork, though? She had never seemed so to Harry. What was the missing piece? The whole family was a sheer puzzle!

– "Where were you last?"

Harry bit his lip. George looked and sounded so severe. He could not bale out of this. "Tube station, Sir," he whispered, unable to look away.

"What were you doing there?"

What should he say? – Nono, he must not say that he was running away… George would promptly return him to the Dursleys, if not giving him to the bobbies. But…

– "Running away?"

Oh, no…


	19. Losing

The two pairs of eyes stared at each other unblinkingly, challenging each other.

Harry lost the battle in a moment. Uncle Vernon had more bark than this, but George… He believed that man could chew him like a rabid dog without so much as barking, figuratively speaking.

Thus he eagerly seized the chance to take a bath that the man offered, running into the bathroom as soon as George showed him the way.

He only realised that his clothes were not his own when he was about to take them off. What should he wear after his bath, too?

His alarm grew when he found nothing in the pockets of the new britches. Where was his shrunken trunk?

Where was the blue stone? He lost it again…

Soft but firm knocking on the bathroom door startled him into jumping a few inches off the tiles. He nearly said, "Yes, Aunt Petunia," before remembering where he was. (The knocking was too polite for any of his relatives, anyway.)

He peeked out of the door, and a folded set of clothes was thrust under his nose. He looked up, then, and braved George's stare for a moment, inquiring with gaze alone.

The lone eyebrow visible through the crack of the door lifted, as if saying, "Just wear them."

Harry lost the battle, again; now even without participating actively in it.

Mumbling his gratitude half-heartedly and grabbing the change proffered to him, he ducked back into the bathroom. His subsequent bath was uneasy, even though nobody bothered him all the while. But he also swore that he would not be rattled so easily by George again afterwards.

Sadly, he had to forswear it the moment he stepped out of the bathroom. No one was in the main room. The bed he had been sleeping in, set against one corner, was made. His backpack sat in the chair George had occupied, and a note lay on the nightstand on the opposite side, one of its corners pinned under a new tray of meal. Where was the man?

He strode towards the nightstand and carefully pulled the note from under the tray. Frowning, he read it under the illumination of the ceiling lamp.

_Harry,  
>Don't stray out of the room. I mean it. There are subtle wards around my flat that will keep you save and hidden.<br>I'll be away until around tomorrow evening. Dinner is on the tray. You can eat it at any time. (It's warm till then.)  
>George<em>

Gone? Where? And where was here, actually?

Harry spent some time staring blankly at the note. He had been skilfully manoeuvred into a trap, apparently, and now he was in a worse situation too. The man could still tackle him flat even without being there…

Then again, who was George, aside from being the son of his father's godfather?

Filled with a new determination, Harry scoured the whole flat, going as much as peeking into the wardrobe and dresser.

He found nothing; lost, again…


	20. Talks

Harry was reading one of his new books when George returned. Oddly, what alerted him was the sudden presence of a weary entity sharing his space. (Since when had he acquired such a sensitive instinct?) And when he looked up…

The man was clad in the uniform of the Royal Marine, although Harry could not tell which rank. He looked like a man in a mission, given his grim countenance, dusty boots and belted weapons – a pistol and a knife, it seemed. Something offset his fearsome appearance, though: a tray of what looked like two sets of meals.

Still, Harry shrank away warily. He only relaxed – a little – when George greeted him good evening, to which he replied likewise in a murmur. He could not help letting out a small relieved sigh when George removed his weapons and stowed them away, after putting the tray on the writing desk. And he fully relaxed only after George had changed his clothes, joining him at the writing desk for supper. (That brought the question of why George bothered bringing the tray himself, when Harry had been treated with meals popping up on itself on the writing desk during the man's absence, but Harry did not have the nerve yet to ask.)

The beginning of their supper was stilted and uncomfortable, but then George reached into his pocket and came out with the blue stone Harry had been quite familiar with. The sight of the stone made Harry gasp, and he automatically reached out a hand to take it.

"You can go to Ardila whenever you would. I shall escort you there," George said nonchalantly, looking meaningfully at the stone now in Harry's nervous clutch. "I take it you ran away from your family?"

Harry gulped, suddenly losing his appetite. "Relatives, Sir," he mumbled at the sausage he had been about to eat. Had his motifs been that transparent?

No, he must not give George more reason to suspect anything. So, as calmly as he could, he said, "I'm on my own till the first of September, Sir. I'm going to school then."

"You can stay with some of us until then," George replied just as easily. "You can avoid pursuit in that way, and I'm sure you can learn some to prepare yourself for school meanwhile."

– `_Some of us? Avoid pursuit? Prepare for school?_`

Harry stared uncomprehendingly at the stoic man opposite him, who continued eating as if his ideas were perfectly ordinary. Thankfully, albeit in the same matter-of-fact tone, George then elaborated, "You are an unusual individual for the magical community of the great Britain, Harry. You have to adapt to it or find your way out of it."

Harry winced. But George did not apologise for causing him discomfort. Instead the man added, "We'll help you plan and learn as much as we can. But in the end you are alone out there, and we mustn't be seen."

Great… a conspiracy. But strangely, it brought a smile to Harry's face.


	21. ForestHome

George kept his promise. He escorted Harry to Ardila's location, though three days afterwards. (Harry, on George's advice and instructions, had perfected the very basic skills required in Hogwarts' first year standard. It was one happy delay, though.) The blue stone once more became the means of transportation, when Harry activated it with water in one of George's mugs.

And now, after the familiar seamless teleportation, they were standing before the closed gates of what looked like a park, deposited in between them and a hedge-line. "Are you sure this is the place?" Harry could not help asking. George chuckled but said nothing. The man instead pressed Harry's palm alongside his own flush against the smooth plank of the gates. And before Harry could remark on that, the double doors swung inward.

Trees greeted Harry's immediate view, and the sounds of water assaulted his ears. For a moment, he could only gawk. His eyes were only willing to cooperate again when Ardila strolled into view, giving him and George a nod. "Forest-home, water-home," she said to Harry, as if it explained everything quite sensibly.

Harry turned to his side, wanting to ask for clarification to George. But the man was nowhere to be seen, and he was left standing stupidly on the gates of a weird home with a no-less weird person. (He dared not call Ardila looney.)

He had no choice but to obey when the girl beckoned him to follow her. The gate doors clicked shut behind him on their own, and it was with all his might that he did not turn around, pounding at them to open. Ardila was already several yards ahead, so he had to run to catch up. (He convinced himself that it was his reason for running, anyway.)

A small, simple, comfortable-looking house peeked from among the foliage, surrounded by what looked like a ring of water mote. By then, Harry was already confused by the labyrinth of paths they were traversing, and wished only to rest awhile under the shade of one of the numerous trees. They did not veer towards that homely home, though. Ardila instead went to the opposite direction, forcing him to drag himself after her.

They ended up sitting cross-legged facing each other on a carpet of thick, springy grass, in what Harry thought a perfect imitation of a forest clearing. Then, without any preamble, Ardila said, "Meditate, and I'll tell you something you ought to know." And before Harry could voice his confusion, she instructed him to take deep breaths and focus on the peace of their surroundings.

On obeying the instruction, Harry became aware of the birds twittering all over the trees, the squirrels chattering noisily nearer ground, and the rustling of the foliage itself tempered by Ardila's slow breathing. Taking some more deep breaths, all other thoughts were swept away from his mind. He began to be aware of his own body, his own being.

And something warm and powerful drenched his every cell.


	22. Magic

Slowly, slowly, Harry opened his eyes. He felt alive to the point of no description, and he marvelled at it. But most importantly, he felt whole, as if he had just found what he had missed all his life. The feeling was akin to when he had connected with his wand for the first time in Olivanders, but much, much deeper. He loved it.

It took him several moments to register the look Ardila gave him, as he did not believe what he saw. She was… proud of him? But why? Her face was as impassive as ever, yet her eyes spoke differently.

The cozy, protective power soaking him flared briefly on that realisation. Then it flowed out of him like a leaking dam, and he slid smoothly into darkness.

Ardila came into view as if through gradually-thinning fog. Her trademark small smile was in place, and also the glimmer of pride he had seen in her eyes. (The emotion was vague, but it was poignant to Harry compared to her usual blank mask.)

He smiled back at her, but could not help inquiring. "Where are we?"

She did not answer. Instead she said, "Not many people can reach their cores so quickly, Harry. You were tasting your own powers. Exercise the core, and it shall grow."

Her indirect compliment brought his heart soaring to new heights, as impossible as it seemed to him even now. Her motivation fuelled his own, and he swore he would heed her instruction faithfully.

But his high spirit fell down slightly on her next words.

"The more power someone has, the more responsibility he owes."

He did not mind the bit about responsibility; he had been forced to be responsible for many things, often not his own doing, since an early age. Yet the way she said it daunted him, however well-known the wise-saying was. It was as though she had personal experience to back the saying, and he dreaded thinking what mistakes she had made with her powers. If someone as tough as she was could make big mistakes, how about Harry himself? What – or who – would be sacrificed in the process?

Her smile became grim – knowing, approving. His heart plummeted further.

"He who puts himself in a high place is in a great danger of falling and breaking."

"'Don't be too proud,' I take it?" Harry muttered, looking away.

"Not only that." – Ardila's smile was unchanging, and Harry began to be both irked and unnerved by it. Worse, she did not elaborate on it too.

And before he knew it, the darkness was dicipating and bone-deep exhaustion rudely made itself known. Even groaning took too much energy, so he ceased trying to make the attempt. `_Criky. What did I do?_` The feeling was vastly different from his earlier euphoria, not a pleasant experience to be had.

Oh, he would not carelessly follow Ardila's instructions again. Look where she had gotten him now. And those annoying birds hurt his ears with their chirping…


	23. Exercises

Living in an unusual home with an unusual girl had seemed to be interesting to Harry before the reality. But now that he did it and also got to know her – blind – twin sister Ariana, he added "exhausting" and "unconventional" into the overall description.

He woke up at 4 every day with the girls, and together with the duo puttered around the kitchen for a light snack before their morning run around the grounds. The running track itself was ever-changing, labelled with a glowing, unbroken red line on the ground that Ariana claimed emitting a certain sense that even she could trace. It made them pass many terrains and features of water, and the running session itself lasted until 6 o'clock – by which Harry was quite knackered and grumpy but elated at the same time. On the fifth day of doing this, Harry was even convinced that the track got longer and longer alongside his endurance, leaving him no time to congratulate himself. The only silver-lining in this torture was that Hedwig always accompanied him, flying low just ahead of him along the track.

The twins were slave-driver, indeed.

But they also taught him about various abilities, both magical and mundane, and how to harness them, and he liked these sessions immensely. They began after bath and breakfast with theories, from 8 to 10 in the morning, while lounging in hammocks, swimming or swinging. Practises for the respective fields – usually small but motivating – followed after tea, from 11 to 1 in the afternoon.

The boring part was the writing exercise he got after lunch, from 2 to 4 in the afternoon, in which he had to practice perfecting his handwriting with tools ranging from simple lead pencil to warding wand. He got some time for calligraphy, printing arts and drawing technics as insentive, but still… Perhaps he was just not an indoor type of person? Because the next two-hour session, a mad catch-up with his mandane studies that began at five after tea, was no less boring to him.

After another bath and dinner, though, it was Harry's most favourite time ever. The twins let him explore various interests and studies, trying to see where his hobby – or hobbies – lay. In the first few days, they only held easy discussions in various places near the house; but then Harry caught sight of a book about engine construction one night, and he did not want to stop only there. It turned out that he held a similar interest to Ardila, who, oddly enough, enjoyed fixing and mending things. If he could mix the mundane and magical contraptions and make them work…

And, to top each busy day, the twins insisted he learnt to channel his powers without wand an hour before bedtime – at 10. Given his tired body and distracted mind, the previously-easy feat became a chore; and given the exhaustion afterwards, he slept soundly all through the night sans dreams.

Exercise, indeed! While the twins otherwise pampered his pet owl…


	24. Question

Everything in the Forest-home was unusual, but something truly unusual marked Harry's eighth day with the twins: the routine was broken. He did not know what to make out of this. The twins seemed to be fond of routine, aside from teamwork, 'lounging-time' spent together, and discussions. Today they should have been starting their second week together, and Harry had been promised to train in a few skills that would make his survival more achieveable. But on 3:30 pre-dawn, he was woken up by a grim-faced Ariana and told to change and wait in the front porch.

Half an hour later Ariana arrived on the designated point, carrying a backpack over her shoulders and sans Ardila. By then Harry was feeling rather jittery, as he noticed how tense and alien the atmosphere felt, and how silent the nature was. Hedwig 'the chattery' did not even hoot a greeting to him this time!

The whole area was tied to Ardila, as she was its official owner, so something wrong must be happening to her. Ariana's lone appearance just proved the point. (He had never seen the twins separated except for bath-time and bed-time.)

"What's wrong?" he asked the morose girl. Ariana's distant and gloomsome attitude just clinched it. Unfortunately, she refused to answer.

"What ought we do now?" He tried a different tactic. This, she responded to, by patting the backpack and positioning herself unerringly on the start of their running track. Oh well. At least some things never changed.

He thought so, at first. But when they stopped by a freshet spring deep among the trees, Ardila's favourite, he had to amend the statement. Asking Ariana only resulted in a sad smile and a request to help her find a suitable spot to settle down. Harry began to think that she was channelling Ardila when, out of the blue, she said, "We have till 9 to ourselves, Harry. What do you want to know about us? Or anything in general, for that matter."

The twins had never been inclined to answer questions about their strange family…

And he did have one burning question that he thought was the most important. – "Why d'you always say you can't be seen by anyone, especially attached to my name?" – It had been eating at his mind since the first time he had heard it. Initially it had even made him feel hurt and disappointed. What secret did they hide that would terrify or excite people?

Ariana's ccountenance went wry. "Secrets, indeed," she said.

Then Harry remembered that she could involuntarily pick up his thoughts as if he shouted them, if he was not careful with his mind-shielding. "Sorry," he muttered, blushing. That skill was the first that the twins had taught him, since Ariana had claimed that his thoughts were quite loud and driven, distracting her. (He had found out later that her mind was quite sensitive to thoughts and feelings; perhaps a compensation for her blindness?)

Still, he needed some clarification. "What secrets?"


	25. Vow 1

The boy and the girl were enveloped in silence for a long moment. Then Ariana spoke ssoftly, "We can't tell you anything substancial until your mind-shielding is excellent, Harry. Father's 'Lord' title isn't a meaningless pomp. He does have people to protect, aside from ourselves. But some people would… try to terminate us, if we weren't careful. That's also if some information falls into the wrong hands."

Harry gulped and took a deep, shaky breath. His heart was gripped mercilessly in an icy, barbful knot. Her quiet declaration was chilling and quite to-the-point, and he could not help shuddering. The unnecessary – and dreadful – loss of lives was not worth satisfying his mere curiosity.

Before he could apologise to her and rescind his questioning, however, Ariana spoke again in a tone even more solemn than before. "You might receive more information if we bound you from telling anything related to us to outsiders." Then she mumbled something in a language Harry had never known, before adding, "We shan't force you, Harry, and that's why I'm letting you choose now. You'd get the short end of the bargain if you accepted it, 'cause we can't risk any important information. Such binding can be broken by a skilled mind-mage, and we aren't foolish enough to arrogantly claim that we're alone the best of all."

He respected her caution and warnings; but really, it was not that necessary. They had been helping him without pay, or so much as a peep about it. In this way he would get to know at least a little about the family who had been sheltering and nurturing him in this best part of his life. Well, and he was mightily curious anyhow.

"How d'we do that?"

She turned her face to his, and Harry tried his best to hide his feeling of unnerve behind his mind-shield. (That vacant, unfocused stare always disquieted him for some reason, although he knew it was like that because she could not see anything normally.) But then he got the feeling that something was touching him without touching his body, and he was truly frightened now. The alien touch somehow felt like Ariana, and it was… like scanning his soul.

His suspicion was confirmed when Ariana arched up a grim smile. "Your being, Harry, not your name, and I'll do the same."

After a week of highly-educative lectures and reading sessions, Harry knew what she meant. Yet still, dry facts on texts or explanations given while they were otherwise lounging around were totally different from the cold hit of experience. Anchoring the binding on his entire being instead of his mind was a smart move for Ariana, but was it so for him? Was the information worth this most thorough enslavement of free will?

"You can say no, Harry. Do not be hesitant or grudging in the giving, or you'll harm the both of us."

Would he chicken out?

Would she harm him knowingly?

The answer was certain, deep in his heart.


	26. Vow 2

Harry stared right into Ariana's eyes, committing the flicker of life deep in those dysfunctional orbs to memory. He knew she was concerned for him, but to him it was not quite necessary. After what the family had done to him, he was ready to give nearly everything for them. And he knew they would likely agree to receive less, because…

He could not say it, even to himself.

But action spoke louder than words, people said, and he intended to prove it now.

Stifling his discomfort as best as he could, he reached out towards the tendril of awareness touching his spirit. Then, as a part of their souls mingled, he resited his oath in his mind, as his spirit poured forth senses of concepts and self into the words. `_I shall keep any information about this family to myself. No one, human or otherwise, shall get it from me by any means._`

Ariana then piped in in the same manner, `_I shall relinquish you from your obligation when the family deem it safe to do so. Meanwhile, we shall do our best to protect you against all that intend to threaten you – body, mind, spirit and being._`

`_So mote it be._`

And on that identical declaration, a barely-perceptible tie linked their souls to each other. Harry reeled and shivered. The theories were definitely too dry and skimpy for the real experience. But the newly-opened, semi-permanent awareness of Ariana in his own spirit was worth the feelings of high discomfort and disquiet evoked by the ritual. He might miss the twins – and even their rigorous training – sorely at Hogwarts, as much as his boyish pride would deny it; now he would not have to rely on the oft-missing blue stone for that.

"Thanks," he breathed, deliberately pinning his gaze on the frothing-and-bubbling surface of the small pond below the freshet. He reasoned to himself that, since Ariana was blind, she did not need the eye contact. Simultaneously, he ignored his heart's whispering that he just did not want to look into her eyes after such an intimate moment.

Now, though, it was time for answers…

"Where's Ardila?"

Oh, he had not expected that question himself.

Ariana shook her head. "You'll know soon enough."

– But he did want to know… Oh well.

"Will you take me to Kings' Cross for school?"

Awwh! Why did he ask that? It sounded pathetically needy.

Ariana did not have to smile teasingly like that too… Gah.

Blushing red, Harry opened his mouth to amend his question. But before he got out even the first word, she said, "We shall, Harry. At least you can count on me and Dila. We'll all be disguised, though. You'll lose that disguise once you've entered the portal."

That sparked another question… "Where are the others?"

Unexpectedly, Ariana fell silent on that.

Oh. Ah.

Guilt twinged on Harry's heart. That must be a sensitive – if not sore – subject for her, and perhaps for Ardila too. How to mend that?


	27. Background

Harry did not want to believe that the twins' parents were more or less like his own relatives. He only stared uncomprehendingly at Ariana for a moment. Her countenance was stoic, though.

"Ariana?"

A small frown. "Call me Ana, Harry. You've earned it."

Emotions poured into her face then, but too many for Harry to glean. "They are busy, Harry," she said. "Hiding takes a lot of effort. We've learnt to live without them for long anyway. They keep the family safe, and we can do things without being known."

Questions popped up in Harry's mind. One of the undercurrents he caught formed another impression entirely. The parents' current absence was somehow related to him, he was sure of it. But what about? Would they bar him from going to Hogwarts? Or would they safeguard his schooling there instead?

Ariana shook her head. "If you know, the Headmaster would know. We cannot afford that. Sorry."

What about Albus Dumbledore and the "Ar twins" – as he dubbed them privately? What made them distrust him so much? Should Harry do the same? If so, he had to work particularly hard on his mind-shielding…

Still, there was another thorn to address – and hopefully, pull out.

"It all felt different in the stone," he accused grimly.

She did not deny it.

"I don't know what Dila put in it," she said, "but it's indeed to lure you to us, sort of. We couldn't convince you in person, so we had to be convincing with that little thing. It's genuine, though. We only show it differently."

Harry's heart sank. So, after all, he was only… prey?

Was he being an ungrateful brat, like Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had always accused him? Did the twins – and their family – really deserve being barraged by all the negative feelings he had unknowingly piled since early childhood?

– "What are your parents?"

It was safer to just change the topic altogether.

Apparently Ariana agreed, for she answered promptly, "They are in the military, Harry. We've got some cover in that way, but that's also why they… aren't often home."

What was wrong with saying "seldom" or "rarely," if it was indeed the fact?

"You and Dila can cope with the truth better than I."

Criky. His mental defences must have slipped again. He would have no chance of digging more secrets from this family if he went on like this.

But – oh, he had meant to fish out secrets that would help him survive in the Wizarding World, right?

"How if you were accidentally seen by people?"

Ariana snorted. "We'd be carted to the Ministry of Magic and dissected by the Unspeakables. They want to know how we got inhuman powers."

The heavy sarcasm was hard to miss.

Harry frowned. He only stared moodily at the gleaming cascade of water before them for some time. His mind and heart were in turmoil. Should he pity them? Should he hate them? Should he—

"Where's Ardila?"

But Ariana was silent. – Gah.


	28. Intruder

Ariana – Ana? – was distracted all morning. Harry himself found that the lack of Ardila in their little study group meant a lot, although normally she was the kind of person that faded easily from mind and notice. (She was so silent and inobtrusive, speaking only when necessary and to the point.) Guilt gnawed at him, given that he had been aware of her absence mainly because the little things she had subtly provided for them all for their ease and comfort were not present. Was she just a tool – an odd tool at that – to him? Did she deserve that, after all that she had done for him? (He would not be willing to be viewed like that, himself.)

Lunch, therefore, was a somewhat tense and gloomy event between the two of them. More than once, Harry had to help Ana do things she normally did herself (like spearing sausages from the platter), as she was otherwise preoccupied, making her clumsy and rather confused. On unspoken agreement, they broke from the routine afterwards and spent time brooding in various places. Talk was sporadic, and all about things Harry had learnt so far, and only when the silence had grown too oppressive to endure. Worse to him, Hedwig was nowhere to be seen or heard.

A little before three, someone joined them, sitting on the edge of the lake-like large fishless pond they were occupying. A countenance that should have been stern projected an air of playfulness instead; and the blond head was attached to the sturdy built of a soldier. Presently however, the man hunkered slightly and looked rather grim and haunted, and he spoke nothing to them, not even a greeting. Harry watched him cautiously from the farther side of the pond, thankful for the modified pair of glasses Ardila had given him in their first foray into the pool, and after a while their eyes met.

"Who're you?" he blurted.

"Who are you yourself, boy?"

There was only curiosity in the man's tone. Still, Harry cringed and looked away. Uncle Vernon had instilled a bad connotation on the word "boy" into his mind from an early age.

"He's our recent project," Ana piped in. Then she swam towards the man, perching herself on a bit of shore the depth of her waist. "Cm'here, Harry. He's all right. It's just Ed."

Harry was not sure he liked being considered a project. But anyway, the Dursleys beat any derogatory views the twins and their relations might have on him, including this one. One thing the Ar's had instilled into him was to stand up for himself and his own safety and ideals, though.

"Who are you?" he repeated to the man once he was on dry land, a little away from Ana.

"Someone." A teasing chuckle. Harry frowned. The chuckle turned into a soft snigger, albeit half-heartedly.

"I'm a journalist, kid. I'm either on tourism or war. D'you like photography or painting?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm Harry. You?"

"Ed. Edward Sharington."


	29. Propositions

For a while, only the sound of rushing and trickling water of the pool's tributaries was heard in the clearing. The cheery façade Ed had worn fell and, to Harry's consternation, the man's grim eyes were on him all the time. The air of the strange home was back to brooding again, and Harry felt like fleeing the place altogether. But perhaps, if he actively tried to dispel the gloom…?

Ed had something under his arm… "What's that?" Harry waved at the gleaming item, glancing briefly at the man's eyes.

A camera was soon produced. Harry eyed it uncertainly, only nearing close enough to touch when Ed beckoned him. "Dudley had something like this once. He threw it to his telly when his favourite show was cancelled for the day," he said, feeling foolish afterwards for divulging such a useless trivia.

It was the first time he talked about his life with the Dursleys after his escape, too. Why in the world did he bring it up now?

Apparently ignoring his discomfort and anecdote (mercifully so, for Harry), Ed said, "We ought to do something with your eyes if you really want to learn about taking photos."

Harry looked up with wide eyes, unable to conceal his excitement and eagerness. "Can I? May I?" Meanwhile a part of him, trained to endure disappointment and harsh ridicule, already prepared for a negative answer.

When even Ana welcomed it warmly, thus, Harry was at a loss of words. She even revealed that the twins had actually thought about proposing an eye treatment to him!

Ed sighed in complaint though, hearing the word "Hogwarts." When Harry asked, he asked back, "You want to finish your non-magical schooling, right, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry answered, more for Ana's benefit – as he also nodded to Ed. This time, he prayed that it was not a "No"-answer rhetorical question.

Well, he was not betrayed too, this time.

"Severus did something like that. We've got to ask him or Jerry about it," Ana piped in. "We ought to do something about your eyes first though. But Dila's the healer…"

That killed the conversation successfully. But this time, chill seemed to descend alongside the silence. Harry curled into a ball, shivering slightly. The same questions popped up in his mind: Where was Ardila? What had happened – was happening – to her? But this time, he must know.

He peered up first at Ana, then at Ed. Then, seeing that they were occupied with their own thoughts, he stood up and sprinted to the house. Taking a shower and changing into a fresh set of clothing, he steeled his resolve and crept to Ardila's room.

Not that he exactly knew where it was. But he was determined to at least try. There were four rooms in the house: three bedrooms and one bathroom. They were spread on four corners of the house, hugging the central room which also worked as kitchen and living areas. Now, which was Ana's and which was Ardila's?


	30. Hathaldir

The house was eerily quiet, as if reproving his defiance. But driven by a force he could not explain, Harry continued on his search.

A sour-faced, black-clad man guarded the door to one of the rooms, so it might be Ardila's. Thus, when the man was distracted, he darted into the room.

And everything distorted, spiralling into colourful blur.

And Hathaldir was born in the land of Dorthonion, the only child of a warrior-farmer couple. He grew up as a loved but unspoiled boy, with an older child named Dagnir as his surrogate older brother and best friend. Taught the code of honour since an early age, he grew to adore and be loyal to the Lord's House, especially another older boy named Beren, who was himself an only child and quite approachable.

As bleak as the current situation was, given the ongoing assault of the Dark Lord all over the land, nothing deterred Hathaldir from living his life the best he could. He showed his love to his parents and best friends shamelessly, and explored the nature around him with ferver as long as no enemy troop was nearby. He did not want to waste the time he had, for something in the back of his mind told him that he was lucky to be born into this life. That 'something' also told him that his time with this merry, sturdy, chivalrous and hard-working lot would be short.

He grew into a young warrior by the age of thirteen, loveable by nearly all and trusted for important tasks by both his parents and lord. He throve on all the attention he got and strove to do better, clinging fast to the few treasured things and people he had. But sadly, it soon changed. A large battle broke after years of relative peace, and his father alongside nearly all of-age men in the land were sent to help in it.

And his father, alongside many others, did not come back.

The next year was a torture for them all, as the Dark Lord's forces sivened the homesteads one by one, cutting their number and resources. Then at last Emeldir, the wife of the current lord, proposed for the women and children to seek refuge in a hopefully-safer land. Families were broken, and hysterical farewells or quarrels were an ordinary sight. Hathaldir was not out of the count.

Together with eleven other warriors, he stood by the Lord when everyone else fled the country. They became fugitives in their own land for the next four years, living on the few scraps left in the abandoned farms and moving each night from one hideout to another. But there was just so much they could do, being starved and desperate and hunted. One day one of their own number betrayed them out of misguided love, and their current hideout was ambushed by enemy forces.

Hathaldir breathed his last just before dawn.

And Harry James Potter opened his eyes with a shriek.


	31. Cyndrome

The vivid, vivid dream he had just experienced was terrifying enough. Added with the heart-felt, venomous glare the guard of the room gave him upon his awakening, Harry felt like cowering in a dark, safe corner for a while.

Sadly, it was not possible. His whole being felt heavy and lethargic, and a spot on his chest throbbed as if with remembered pain.

But indeed, it was where the poisoned sword had pierced Hathaldir, killing him almost instantly…

Nono, he would not – he was Harry—

No, Hathaldir—

No, Harry—

"Boy," the black-clad man growled lowly. If Harry could cringe, he would. It was like Uncle Vernon speaking it to him; while he had been almost successful blocking that memory out of his mind.

"Yes?" he croaked. If the man was anything like his uncle, things would be worse if he did not answer.

"What was in your thick skull, barging into unknown rooms like that?"

Well, the reaction seemed to be true to his uncle's character so far…

"I don't know, Sir." It seemed the only honest thing he could say safely.

But apparently, it was not enough for the man. Before he could snarl something hurtful though, another person materialised in Harry's field of vision and greeted him grimly: "Harry."

Ana; and she looked horrible, with puffy, blood-shot eyes and frail bearing. Harry much preferred an angry or vindictive Ana to this alien representation of the girl he had gotten to know. It hurt him terribly, somehow.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. But it did not seem enough. Nothing would probably ever be enough. He just hoped – desperately hoped – that his friendship with Ana and her family had not been irrevocably damaged.

And where was he? Where was Ardila?

"In your room."

Oh, it hurt. Her curt tone stabbed deeper than the unnamed man's had been.

"Ardila?"

"In hers."

"How is she?"

"Same."

`_Argh, Ana…_`

"You should've known better."

Harry shifted on the bed, trying to alleviate the pain Ana's distant attitude caused on him. He froze mid-way curling into a ball however, when she suddenly asked, "Who were you?" How did she know? Was this an ordinary occurance in the family? It was scary…

"Hathaldir," he whispered, his voice shaking alongside his body.

She shook her head, sniggering madly. "It's back, then," she said, dropping into a chair and clutching her face with her hands.

"What do you mean?" Harry peeked out of the folds of his arms, baffled and even more alarmed.

"Dila always got that, and last time I was dragged into it."

"Who were you?" He could not believe his daring, but the words were out before he could prevent it.

"Andreth."

"Is this like…."

"Disease? Perhaps. We call it Ardila's Cyndrome."

Twistedly fitting, Harry thought, feeling like sniggering madly himself. Meeting this side of the twins could unhinge anyone, he supposed.

But if she had been Andreth, the oldest of the ruling House when he had been Hathaldir… "Who's Ardila?"

"Emeldir."

His mind shut down.


	32. Cause

The play-hut, perched rather precariously on a moderate-sized tree, was quite small for two teenage girls and one scrawney pre-pubescent boy. But it served them well currently, cramped together like a tin of sardines as they were. The gap formed between them after "Ardila's Cyndrome Incident," widening alongside the approach of Harry's departure to Hogwarts, now lessened slightly. The unity they had achieved the previous week began to mend, albeit slowly, and Harry could not be gladder about that. (He could not stand the distance between them, this close to the first of September.)

They seemed to have chosen a good hideout too, as George – whom Harry had later known called Jerry by the twins (to distinguish him from his father) – plus Ed and Severus were searching diligently for them all around the ground level of the tiny estate. Given the necessity of talking mind-to-mind so as to limit betraying sounds, Harry also felt lucky that he had learnt mind-shielding and mind-penetration to Ana's satisfaction. He did not want to see Severus all too soon, especially that he knew he was being defiant towards the man.

They were silent for a long time, just soaking in each other's presences, but at last Ardila broke the quiet contemplation. `_Do not pester Severus, Harry. He holds grudges fast, and he had one with your father._`

Oh. Harry had never thought she would observe his – practically nonexistent – relationship with the dour former guard of her room. He had never imagined that Severus had known his father too, much less holding a grudge against him – now just a dead man among many. It seemed quite childish to him, and the man had not looked so when he had been on guard duty in front of Ardila's room. But if Harry's father had done something unspeakable…?

`_James Potter mightn't want to admit that he did many things wrong to Sev, Harry, and Sirius Black less. But wouldn't you agree that those denied acts were still wrong?_` Ana murmured gently.

`_Who's Sirius Black?_` Harry wondered, baffled. His relatives had never told him about his parents nor their lives and friends; their names only: James Potter his father and Lily Evans his mother – the little sister of his aunt.

`_Sirius is your godfather._` Ana hesitated slightly. `_They were popular in the Gryffindor House, especially for their… pranks… to the Slytherin House._`

Harry's heart clenched, and he felt like being doused by a bucket of icy water. Had his father and godfather been bullies at school?

`_Children are often cruel_,` Ardila remarked in her bland-but-meaningful tone. It did not help him, at all.

Trying not to take the – most likely unintentional – bait and ask about Ardila's past, he changed the subject and instead inquired, `_What started the cyndrome, Ardila?_`

Oops… Too crass…

But thankfully, neither of the twins remarked about that. Ardila just blithely answered, `It_ needs to stand on queue, unfortunately._`

What more secrets did this family hold, if that one even had to "stand on queue?"


	33. Parents 1

Still, however hard Harry tried to get rid of the thought of his father bullying other children, images of his own experiences with Dudley and his gang taunted his mind's eye, with James as Dudley and Severus as himself. Had his father been that cruel? What about his mother, then?

It hurt very much when the carefully-built, cherished images of one's parents were shattered by the careless blow of reality.

It was worse to him presently, as neither of the twins sought to alleviate even a little bit of that pain. They huddled stoically around him, indifferently acknowledging his presence. It made him want to hurt them a little, just to coax out a reaction, more than what he had gained before.

No, it was wrong; just… wrong. Besides, the searchers seemed to be zoning in on their hideout at last. They did not have much time left. He must not act on his impulse if he wanted answers.

`_Can you tell me about my parents, please?_`

Ana frowned in thought. Ardila's calm countenance did not change one bit, though.

All the same, unexpectedly, it was Ardila who finally spoke. `_James Augustus Potter was our father's godson, born from middle-aged parents. He was Severus' yearmate at Hogwarts, and one of the most popular students there. He was in Gryffindor House, a head boy in his last year, and he loved pranking people – especially those of Slytherin House. Severus, your mother's best friend at that time, was his gang's chief target._`

The icy feeling in Harry's belly solidified. Would James have turned away from bullying his schoolmates, if he had known that his son would suffer the same fate from his cousin years later?

He felt sick, but knew that he could do nothing about it. It was the past, and James was still his father. Besides, he had only gotten one half of the story; he had to know the other, however reluctant he was to get any more dejected and disappointed. `_How about my mother?_`

This time, Ana spoke up. `_We know little of her, and Sev doesn't want to talk about her too much. She's a Muggleborn, enrolled at Hogwarts in the same year as James and Sev. She'd known Sev since some time before school and they'd been best friends since then. She's in Gryffindor while Sev's in Slytherin, but that didn't deter them. Well, until their fifth year that is. He called her a Mudblood one time and she broke up their friendship. To my knowledge, she'd never forgiven him till her death despite his many attempts to apologise._`

Harry bit his lip hard, refraining from lashing out mentally at his surroundings to alleviate some of his pain. But otherwise, he could not care less about anything. Unbidden, tears prickled at the insides of his tightly-shut eyes. His father had been a gangster bully and his mother had been a stuck-up goody-two-shoes. Why could they not have been just normal, good people with normal, bland characters?


	34. Parents 2

Harry wished Ardila were yet her inattentive self when she at last stared at him. (Her placid bearing was easier to endure.) Her eyes seemed to gaze into his soul and scan it, unveiling any kind of deception. No mental barrier of his could withstand the cold, impassive assessment. The brief duration felt like an eternity to him.

Thus he could only gawk incomprehensibly at her when a tendril of her awareness caressed the deepest part of his being with empathic tenderness. He supposed she knew everything about him by now; but he had never expected this intimate sympathy.

`_No, Harry, I do not know everything about you. My talent does not work like that, and it is not entirely controllable anyway._`

It was the lengthiest description of herself that he had ever heard her talk about. He soon forgot it though, as she then projected a life-like image into his mind. The photograph George Senior had shown him paled compared to this representation of his parents. They were so warm and sincere, cooing lovingly at his baby self. In a heart-beat they would look up and see him …

But his father had been a bully, and his mother a prat.

The image dissolved into a field of bleak grey.

`Don't hate them, Harry. They were just normal children, normal teenagers, and normal adults. Normal people do that sometimes,` Ana at last murmured into the awkward stillness. `They loved you so much regardless. Father said they'd grown up well in the end.`

`In the end,` repeated Harry woodenly, and he let out a heavy sigh. Normal children indeed; but that also put a wider gap between his parents and him. That would also mean that he had more in common with Severus Snape than he had previously thought or believed. Ironic, really.

Before he could dig more into the lives of his parents, however, another awareness enveloped the three of them, exuding exasperation, annoyance, and a good deal of worry. `Jerry,` Ardila murmured, radiating amusement. They had been found at last.

`You go down first, Harry,` Ana smiled. Harry obeyed reluctantly.

And Severus Snape met him on the base of the tree. Harry winced. Seeing Severus again after all the revelation was awkward, to say the least. The man seemed to notice his discomfort too, lifting his eyebrows, but thankfully he said nothing.

The Ar's shimmied down the tree a moment afterwards, and they walked in silence. Harry hated it, but he could do nothing about it. What should he say to Severus for what his parents had done to the man? Was it his place to do so? What would Severus say to that, after their own strained beginning of relationship? Would Harry end up like his parents himself?

No, no, no, no. – Looking up, he met Severus' eyes squarely as his hand squeezed the man's in a brief, odd, but sincere handshake. Afterwards, he ran away straight into his sanctuary, his bedroom, feeling embarrassed but strangely satisfied.


	35. Family

Dusk approached and Harry was still tucked away in his room, avoiding an awkward meeting with Severus. But this time, the twins joined him. They lounged on his bed, the twins leaning against the pillowed headboard and Harry himself curled up leaning against the wall on one side of it. He had a strong suspicion that they were also fleeing from Severus – from the obligation to tell him that they had informed Harry about his past. Fortunately for them, he had no desire to confront them about it. (The comeback would have been more than he could handle, he knew.)

It was only the third time they could just sit back doing nothing in one of their rooms like this, and he enjoyed every one of them. It was also a chance that he could use to explore aspects of the twins without being dubbed gawking.

And it was when his unease rose another few notches regarding the twins' origin.

Jerry had always treated the girls as individuals, not as twins, and Ardila loved to operate alone so much anyway. And now, they looked so similar and yet so different that Harry would dub them only siblings instead of twins. And there was the fact that they looked nothing similar to their parents nor their brother too.

Ana smirked. Harry frowned. It was really true, then?

Ana nodded. But how could she still hear his thoughts? His mind-shield was perfect…

She grinned and shrugged. Ardila snorted softly. Harry inched away from them. They chuckled, amused.

"Other people were faster to be unnerved with us, congratulations for that," confessed Ana at last, now chuckling openly. "And yes, you're right. We weren't twins. We weren't siblings at all in fact."

Harry was dumbfounded: shocked, bewildered and overwhelmed by a slew of new questions. Judging from Ana's massaging her temples, she heard them all and thus fell into the same predicament.

But thankfully – or not – Ardila was there to break the ice.

"Friend-bond, sibling-bond, family-bond."

… In her own way, of course.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked weakly. "Are you adopted?"

The twins hummed affirmatively.

An indescribable feeling rose in him, mounting nearly to the point of explosion. But only one word rang in his mind: adoption – hopeful, terrified, flabbergasted.

Ardila met his eyes at length, smiling her tiny, assured smile – a promise. His heart pounded in his chest, his throat and in his ears. Adoption.

"Family," said she. He would agree with her whole-heartedly. Family, at last – if indeed.

Then she invited him to look outside the window, which overlooked the hut's small side-garden. He obeyed.

And there, he witnessed Jerry, Ed and Severus in a kind of playful wrestling match.

"But… but…"

"Family, Harry," Ardila reminded him, smiling. For the second time ever, he could glimpse pride lurking in her impassive countenance.

"Adopted?" he asked, his hope rising.

"Family."

The rising hope was tempered by uncertainty now, and watching the match became somehow painful. He looked away. Would he ever…?


	36. Denning

Due to the prolonged visit of the men, the twins cancelled teaching Harry more of the usual lessons. Instead, aside from the predawn run around the settlement and the routine meals, all six of them spent the time together doing various things that Harry would call fun, which ended up teaching him anyway. (Sadly, Hedwig was still absent.)

Ardila showed him how to ride a flying broom the day after the men came, during which Harry found that he was a natural at it. (Severus seemed displeased after the fact, but what could make the man pleased anyway?) On the second day, Jerry taught him how to ride a bicycle in rough terrain, while Ed showed him some photographing technics.

Harry could not be any happier. And yet something was bothering him on a subconscious level, something that was unutterable until Ardila announced the immediate arrival of George Senior and his wife on the third day of their little holiday.

In all the fun, the parents had not been there, and had never been mentioned even slightly by either the Ar's or Jerry. In fact, Jerry himself and Severus quickly excused themselves from the vicinity on hearing the news. (Jerry was not quick enough in the end, though.)

Why the distance and apprehention? Why the grim looks on the couples' faces on finding that Severus had fled and Jerry had almost successfully done so? What dark secret had been rooted in this family to have caused this? Now adoption sounded no longer appealing to Harry. Sadly, he could not flee like Severus did.

He could not concoct any excuse too when George declared "denning night" on the family, dragging him into the term by assigning him tasks such as carrying out the beds and arranging them into a big nest in the central room. Worse, his assigned place was in-between George and Harriet his wife. They were truly like denning badgers! And what did this mean? Was he a part of the family by default seeing that James Potter had been George's godson? What was the purpose of curling up together like a pack of wildlife when they could have slept in their own rooms?

But when night fell, Harry could not deny that he somehow enjoyed this new, strange experience. The knowing, grim look had left George's and Harriet's faces, and the overall atmosphere was becoming more relaxed. Jerry was curled up around a pillow on the far corner of the nest, examining Ed's camera with exaggerated attention, but at least he no longer acted stiffly and coldly around his parents. It also helped that the twins had brought out their board games and were coaxing everyone to play after the fulfilling dinner and bath they had had.

When crickets, cicadas and nightingales intensified their singing around the home, the nest gradually fell sleepy and silent. The occupants curled up around each other and against pillows, tucked into blankets and drifting gently into slumber.

Harry loved it, in fact.


	37. Blood

Early morning, Harry was woken up by a slight change of wildlife sounds in the vicinity, as per usual. What he found unusual was the fact that he was lying in-between George and Harriet, trapped in their tangled limbs. More strangely, he felt warm and content about the unguarded, intimate gesture, as if he had experienced it before.

But he had, had he not? The blue stone…

George shifted in his sleep, cocooning closer against his wife and the boy in their midst, practically squeezing Harry against his front and framing him with the man's limbs. Worse (or better, Harry could not decide) Harriet reciprocated, as if it was a well-known, well-koreographed dance to the deeply-asleep couple. – A kiss on his head, a caress on his hair, and Harry tumbled back into the dreamland with not even a chance to be surprised.

Around the globe he travelled with odd people, doing odd things and going to odd places – a childhood hope blurring into dream, and he woke up refreshed with sunlight beaming down on him from an open window nearby. George was gazing down at him with a peculiar expression, and in his hand was the stone Harry had briefly wondered about earlier in the morning.

He felt confused now, awkward and a little uneasy. the unexpected experience before… No, he would not think of it, at least not now. A big event was approaching, and he could not afford to be distracted. He did not know what it—

Ah, Hogwarts; departure to Hogwarts, tomorrow morning. And just then George at last chose to speak up. "A belated welcome to our… unusual… family, Harry, and a pleasant morning to you as well. My daughters have told me all about you and your training, and we thought up a proposal for you while you were asleep." His tone was no less peculiar; and why such a formal conduct and weighty issue when he had just awaken? To think that he had had a nice dream…

"Ana talked briefly about your vow."

That clinched it, turning Harry's mood and attention around from his half-hearted grousing. What did the head of the family think about their admittedly rushed and harebrained vow? What did it have to do with the blue stone anyway? (George was proffering it to him, and Harry was momentarily distracted with the reflection and refraction of sunlight from the stone.)

"Do you want to really be a part of us, Harry?"

Strange that he had always imagined such a proposal to be spoken… well, elsewhere; certainly not while they were all dressed in pyjamas and sitting haphazardly on a very large, unmade bedding, and bringing the peculiar stone of Ardila's into it too. But the gist of the words was the same: undeniable, desireable, but frightening. He did not want – but he wanted – but…

The warmth, the protection, the strange camaraderie—

"Yes."

The stone was dropped into his hand, warming at once and warming him in kind – warm as blood.


	38. Adoption

Harry's eye's widened. He could not distinguish between his heartbeat and the warm, hard, throbbing mass of stone in his hand. The sunlight flooding the bed-nest intensified the feeling, blanketing him in light and even more warmth. George locked eyes with him, and all that he saw was a field of light blue. The core – his core – he had touched only once before flared and bathed him with his own escence and powers.

`_So mote it be._` – And the link he had established with Ana on the vow spread to the entire family. Too intimate, too fulnerable… Harry shrunk back, and the link receeded alongside the reach of his core.

Blinking his eyes after the intense mental and spiritual experience felt jarring, disorientating. But the slew of questions bursting to get free from his mind was greater, and he was finally able to focus his vision – only to find that he was still staring at George.

"What did you do?" he croaked.

"Fulfilling your wish and sealing the vow you made with my daughter," George answered matter-of-factly. Harry wondered if Ardila got this trait from the man. But she was adopted…

"And so are you, child," George said softly. "Half-way as it is, but you are ours in many ways already."

Could he read his mind, too?

Harry did not know should he be frightened or elated on the news. He opted to inquiring further.

"W-what about the s-stone?"

He just wished his voice was not so shaky. And on the reminder, his hand twitched, sending the blue stone plopping onto the sheets.

George arched a small smile. "You have to ask your sisters for that. It is from Ana's collection, and Dila tinkered with it. I only made use of it."

`_Sisters!`_ But then suspicion crept in, replacing the flabbergasted joy. From all his experience, reading and research, he had concluded that the twins were strange as strange went. What unthinkable things had they put into the stone? True, he had not been harmed by the stone – "Why did the stone sting me?" That night in the clearing…

"It took your blood." Again, the blunt, frank answer. "Your parents died to protect you, and your mother specifically gave herself in your stead. All the accumulated protection resides in you – your being, soul, mind, and blood. We just magnified and maximalised what your parents started. We hope the stone would act as your shield, messenger and comforter."

Harry had always heard that truth was cold and bitter. But he had never expected to be hit by this much truth at once. Too much…

He curled into himself, his breathing laboured and his body shivering. Sacrifice… His parents had sacrificed themselves for him. Would they be angry now that he was adopted? They were still his parents, however poorly they had conducted themselves in their lifetimes. Was it right for these people – his new family – to make use of his parents' sacrifice so callously? But would he not permit them anyway?


	39. Outing

It was quite strange and unsettling to Harry, to be treated differently by those whom he had been staying with this past week and a half. Ed, formerly acting rather uncertainly around him, now eagerly taught him things he had not revealed before, secrets that he admitted should have stayed that way as it was a cash of personal tricks every photographer worth his title must have. Jerry, on the other hand, seemed to put up a distance between them while there had been none before. (It hurt, but Harry would never admit it out-loud.) And as if keeping a balance between the two factions, Ardila got closer while Ana was distant – an outcome he had never predicted even in his wildest imagination. But he could not flee; not until tomorrow. And there was still Severus to consider later.

It was quite a relief to him thus when Hedwig returned, apparently from a long hunting expedition. Ardila proposed an outing to spend the rest of the day too after George and Harriet were gone. Ed unfortunately pleaded out of it, saying that he had procrastinated on his work for too long already, while Jerry and Ana affirmed their involvement. But perhaps, constrains would be loosened slightly when they were out of the Forest-home? At any rate, Harry had something to look forward to, namely Ardila's promise to help him deal with his relatives later in the day.

Hitching a ride on Ed's car for part of the way, they went to the amusement park first. Harry relished queuing and having fun just like other people all around them. In this way he felt normal for once, not a freak and certainly not a celebrity. It also helped that his prediction seemed to come true: that the tension between both parties dissolved – much, if not all – as they chuckled and whooped (Ana) and laughed freely (Harry himself) during the various rides. Jerry bought ice cream for the small company when morning grew late, and they ate it together in a shaded corner while looking around contentedly at the rides around their resting nook. It was Harry's first time ever going on a real holiday trip, and he could not deny enjoying it very much. Here he was not considered invisible like the Dursleys often treated him in the past, however distant Jerry and Ana had been acting towards him today, and he did not stand out either. The concept of family still terrified him though, somehow. He did not want to chalk this show of equality as a familial trait – not yet, at least. Right now he just wanted to enjoy himself.

Still, good things never lasted long. Ardila spoke about moving to their next destination after lunch in one of the restaurants in the amusement park, and nobody objected to that. Personally, Harry would love to delay confronting his relatives as long as possible; but seeing that the twins looked eager – in their own ways, of course – he grew curious.


	40. WardDancing 1

Shielded against unwanted perception (or so Ardila said), the highly-enchanted, closely-warded modified merry-go-round of hers brought the four of them away from the amusement park, landing in a park Harry had been all too familiar with. It was on the edge of a ward-wall keeping all magical transports at bay, Ardila affirmed. Harry did not care much about it, but he did note that Jerry looked resigned and Ana excited, while Ardila herself seemed more… alive, spirited. It was unnerving, really. But she did not give him any reprieve, asking him to directly lead them to his relatives' house.

Bafflement replaced his disquiet, though, when she bade them stop shy of the hedge fence of Privet Drive number four. Were they not going to confront the Dursleys? Why stop outside the house? But Ardila raised her hand for silence when he opened his mouth, about to ask her. Oh well.

Ana and Jerry seemed to cotton on at last when Ardila began to walk slowly away from them, following a pattern she alone saw, but unfortunately they said nothing about it as well, only dragging him away from the house. The three of them ended up standing side-by-side under the shade of a tree across the street, with Harry wedged in-between the two others as if shielded from an on-coming explosion. He did not know should he pity or fear for the Dursleys.

A moment later, all thoughts just vanished from his mind.

Ardila had returned, but her gait was odder than it was usually and her hands were waving as if conducting a bizarre orchestra. She was… dancing? She reminded him much of a net-weaving spider all the same, like those he had observed in his cupboard of ten years. And the power he felt radiating out from her was somehow alien, as if it did not belong to the petite, imperfect girl with whom he had been closely acquainted this fortnight. What was she doing? What was the point of dancing around the Dursleys' home, except to scare its occupants? (But then they would be harder to bargain with…)

She vanished beyond the far side of the fence, then returned again several minutes later – odder than before. It was as if a red light the colour of blood surrounded her from head to toe, and her movements were more delicate, like wading through mud or savouring a meal. And when her eyes met his, he was briefly startled that they were glowing from within, before he was sucked into them – into her perception.

Nets and sheets and fine particles surrounded him, clinging to every inch of his body and attempting to intrude into his soul. But he manoeuvred and manipulated them with innate knowledge that he never knew the source of, just accepting it as part of his being. He knew the blood, intimately, and he knew the caster of the wards from an accidental encounter.

With a last flick of his finger, the unnecessary wards finally collapsed.


	41. WardDancing 2

But his task was not finished. Despite everything, it would be too cruel to leave the people living within the former ward-wall totally undefended. He left the basic home-wards for them, their soft colours and delicate tangles actually pleasing to the eye. And there was only one thing left, the hardest and most important part of all: the blood wards. But with the blood's owner so close and handy, it became the easiest thing to do.

He wove the wards tighter around himself, allowing no strand out of his reach. And then, an embracing motion later, all the wards were transferred to the blood's owner—

And Harry returned to his own body with a choked gasp.

Ardila's gaze lingered on him and the alien feel around her remained, but her eyes had stopped glowing. Still, it all had been a most jarring and disorientating experience, not to mention frightening.

She took a step towards him, and he took a step back. Her gaze became sharper, more searching, and he looked down, taking yet another step back and behind Jerry.

The next moment, she was directly before him, capturing his right hand on her own and guiding it towards the centre of her chest. Seemingly uncaring of his desperate struggling, she put the palm of his hand flat against the centre of her ribsage, directly atop her beating heart.

He stopped fighting, going limp with a shudder and a stifled whimper. The heartbeats ensured him that she was still human, and it somehow soothed him without losing the surreal quality of the experience. He was not about to lock gazes with her any time soon though, even when she murmured her apology to him, admitting that she was always rasher and harsher in her ward-dances. Presently he just wanted to go anywhere, anywhere but here, and lost the wards wound around him that were making his skin tingle even now.

His wish was fulfilled, partly.

They took the 'teleporting merry-go-round' again, but not to the Forest-home as he had hoped. Instead, they visited various places which he could neither glimpse nor count, just to make the wards there recognise and take a bit of the blood wards surrounding him. The only bright news in the whole unexpected, surreal, uncomfortable experience was Ardila's assurance that he would never have to go back to Privet Drive Number Four again, added by the offer to try the family's other lodgings when the holidays came.

But perhaps, seeing that he was not totally convinced and mollified, Ardila then offered a cook-out in the Forest-home.

Above all, it was what made him perk up. He only had one objection to that.

"What about the rest of them though?" he grumbled, waving vaguely at himself.

The first and last warning he got from Ardila was a sound of agreement, before she raised her right hand and the remnence of the blood wards imploded into his body. Pain burnt his eyes.

But afterwards, his glasses-aided vision felt blurry.


	42. Leaving

Harry had not requested it, and he felt mortified just thinking about doing so, but he was glad nonetheless when Ardila announced the night before his departure to Hogwarts as "denning night." He needed a bit of tangible familiarity before what would appear to be a lonely school-year. (He would forgive her earlier indiscretion regarding her ward-dances just for that.) Strangely, neither Jerry nor Ana objected to the arrangement. They even helped him pack for the semester, using the trunk and schoolbag the family had gifted him several days ago for this very reason.

However in the end, before all was done and just when they were getting sleepy, Ed came by unexpectedly and they ended up playing a rather rousing series of board games. Harry would prefer this instead of packing anyway, although he knew he would regret the delay tomorrow. At any rate, he fell asleep with a smile flanked by the twins and the two men.

His awakening was rather unpleasant though. Ardila had just trickled a bit of icy water on his temple. Given the advantage of not having to grab his spectacles to be able to see, he gave chase to her all around the settlement without any ado. On hindsight, he wondered if she had deliberately aimed for that very reaction, since he felt quite awake and spirited when he returned back into the house, however fruitless his chase had been.

When he was done with his morning ablusions, he found the two men and two girls standing by his trunk and schoolbag in the central room, with Hedwig already in her cage beside his belongings.

Jerry excused himself then, saying that he had to return to his base. Harry's heart sank a bit on that. He was slightly molified though, when the mariner promised to at least see him off the gate of the Forest-home.

Besides, he was distracted by the suspicious motions Ed was making on the periphery of his vision, as if the man was activating a camera. Before he could confront the "walking camera" about it though, Jerry had already ushered him out of the house and past the trees to the front gate, with the Ar's trailling behind with his luggage and Hedwig's cage.

The sight of the thick wooden planks of the gate brought home the fact that he was leaving to school more forcefully than any other before. Suddenly, the prospect of learning at Hogwarts seemed less appealing, less sure, and he wanted to just turn around and go back to the safety of the environment he knew and liked. Unfortunately – or fortunately – Jerry seemed to know what he was thinking about and marched him to the gate, murmuring, "We are so near, just remember that."

He clutched the blue stone inside his right pocket, taking comfort from its warmth. Afterwards he nodded to Jerry and marched on his own volition out of the gate.

He was going to Hogwarts. He was not going to disappoint anybody.


End file.
